A Paragon's Affair
by Sianie
Summary: Paragon Sereda Aeducan organises a royal and political masquerade ball at Denerim palace between her people and the Surfacers. She wanted Alistair's support, and got something entirely different. Set 12 years after the Blight, with Anora as queen.


_Denerim City, twelve years after the Blight._

Their house in Denerim was full. Alistair, bemused at the bustle, went to follow the trail left by the dwarves, elves and humans, taking two steps at a time up the narrow staircase. An elf maid holding a vase of flowers ran down from above him, and he flattened himself against the wall so she could pass. She muttered a very quick "sorry, ser." Alistair shook his head and continued up the stairs, following the chaos.

"…No no no," he heard, coming from their room. It was his wife, and she was using her Warden Commander voice; that meant she was either in a really, _really _good mood or would snap his head off. "I explicitly told Lord Dace that he would be seated next to the Arl of Gardris, and not Lady Cantsa. That's the point of this all, of which clearly he fails to see."

"And what shall I tell him?" Alistair recognised that as Gorim, the man in charge of all her 'dwarf stuff' as he called it; Sereda would always roll her eyes at that.

"Whatever you see fit. Bring up his own indiscretions if you have to, but I want him there. If he is throwing a tantrum about the seating arrangement and we oblige it, they all will start and we'll never hear the end of it."

He knocked on the open door, amused he had to announce himself into his own room. Gorim smiled and bowed his head respectfully at him. Sereda, who was in the process of having her hair done by a harried looking woman, raised an eyebrow at him. There was steel in her gaze. She held a portion of her red hair to one side while her maid worked on the rest, and Alistair hid a smile behind his hand. "Interesting look," he said, ignoring her apparent rising anger.

"Where have you been?" She snapped. Alistair raised his eyebrows. Gorim politely busied himself with pulling at the armour on the stand in the room. He started polishing an already shining golden greave, his back turned.

"I wasn't aware I had to be anywhere," he said.

"Andraste's tits, Alistair," she said, using the swearwords she picked up from the other Wardens. "Would it kill you to remember what today is for me?"

Alistair felt the pit of his stomach widen in anger, annoyed she was doing this in front of people. "Yes, I'm aware; it's kind of hard to miss."

She sighed and looked at the ceiling. "Your armour arrived just now. For the function, I mean."

"What's wrong with my other armour?" He asked disbelieving, peeking at what he had on now. He looked down at her as she sat by her dresser, and he caught the maid's eye. She pursed her lips and went back to the task of -wait, was she _sewing_ clumps of hair into his wife's scalp? Oh, _Make_r…

Sereda barked once in laughter and swivelled around, much to the disapproval of the woman trying to dress her hair. "It won't do."

"It's my Warden armour; I just got it cleaned and fixed at Wade's!" He was annoyed; it cost him two sovereigns to have the dents and nicks filled and smoothed, as well as for the enamel and gold decorations to be re-soldered and painted.

"That's great, but not for tonight." Sereda clenched her jaw and resisted the urge to yell. Instead she sighed heavily, which in some regards was worse. "It's dwarven made, nothing compares; silverite and dragon bone, not just decorative; you could fight in it and it would hold up. It's the best the Smith Caste have to offer, Alistair. Do not insult them but not wearing it."

Alistair crossed his arms, and mirrored her tight jaw with his own. "This armour is dwarven made," he said nodding down to show what he stood in.

"I _know_." Wearily Sereda looked up again at the ceiling again, feeling like she was dealing with a grumpy toddler. "But it's also your Warden armour. Just for tonight, please. Be the supportive husband of the Paragon and not a Grey Warden; tonight is not about that. I am not a Grey Warden today."

"You mean be your 'human lapdog'?"

Sereda turned around angrily and leapt to her feet, waving off her maid's protests. Gorim, sensing the storm, grabbed the woman and pushed her out the door and closed it.

"Are you serious?" She said angrily, fury etching her features; her elaborate hairstyle collapsing around her face in protest.

"What? You don't think I know what they call me back at your home?"

Sereda opened up a locked chest closest to her and pulled out a silver breastplate, setting it up on the naked stand next to her bejewelled cuirass. "Stop being childish," she muttered, trying to ignore the dig of what _your home _was doing to her.

Alistair tried to grab her arm and she shrugged it away, his gloved hand fumbling for the peach silk of her dressing gown uselessly. "Sereda…" he started, trying to make his voice calm. She refused to look at him, and busied herself with setting the admittedly very handsome armour out for him.

"Do you know how important this is for our people? For not just merchants to leave for the surface, but nobles, smiths, artisans… And be welcomed back, with open arms? Do you know how much of a big _sodding_ deal that is?"

He rubbed a hand over his face and willed her to look at him. "I'm sorry, but-"

"Ten years, Alistair. Ten years I've been working on this. Ingratiating myself to the vipers at the palace courts, swaying favour for both sides to attend. All the while the humans thinking, well… it's just dwarves, why should they bother, and the _deshyrs_ at the council thinking, oh! It's just the surface, why should we care?"

"I know, it's just-"

"You don't!" she said over her shoulder, not quite looking at him. "My people, we're dying! Our political climate will see to that, as you well know. This is a small, tiny step in survival, not just in politics. Opening trade lines and attending a ball in Denerim may not seem like a big deal to you, but it is to me!"

Alistair sighed and removed his gloves, shoving them on the chaotic mess that was their bed. He reached for her shoulders, and this time she did not flinch or shake him off. "I'm sorry. But, I just… feel like a spare part in all this. I'm sort of useless."

He felt her straighten up, back suddenly stiff. "You don't get it, Alistair," she said then, steel returning. "And I don't think you ever did." He dropped his hands from her shoulder then, and pushed himself out of the room, too angry to even speak, not even a backward glance in her direction.

* * *

The rest of her afternoon went without much drama; Gorim was dispatched to deal with the minor commotion the seating arrangements had caused among the dwarven nobility, and Zevran had turned up observe the chaos, dressed already in his outfit for the night; her maid was especially annoyed that her argument had made some of her hair extensions loosen, and spent half an hour muttering in Orlesian at the mess.

Sereda looked at Zevran in the mirror after she dismissed her maid, closing the door quietly on the pair of them. She smiled slightly as he currently filched her kohl supply to darken his under eyes. "Have you seen Alistair?" She asked, keeping her voice steady.

Zevran tilted his head side to side and checked his reflection before answering. "Hmm. No, unfortunately not, my dear. Has your husband slipped his leash? Tsk." Sereda glared up at him, and took back her kohl stick; he pursed his mouth in amusement, and raised an eyebrow.

"It's better for him to not be there if he's just going to sulk. I can't afford to coddle his bruised ego tonight."

Zevran appraised her quietly for a moment, then licked his little finger and smudged his under his eye to widen the kohl line. "Trouble?" He asked, then headed to her armour stand to appraise her outfit, fingering the socketed diamonds appreciatively. When she didn't answer, he sighed and headed to her bed and lounged, waiting for her to speak.

He was rather good at lounging casually, and despite his outfit he made it look easy. Zevran was dressed in black silk and leather, with boots _just so _over his knee; even without his deceptively plain leather mask on, Sereda knew he was aiming to break some hearts tonight.

"He's being a child," she said dismissively, and removed her silk dressing gown. She stood only in a light support corset and underwear, not really caring that Zevran was seeing her in such a state on undress; he'd seen worse.

He leered suggestively at her, and Sereda glared again, despite knowing he meant nothing in it. She reached for her heavily embroidered velvet pteruge-style skirt and pulled it over her hips carefully, trying not to snag her stockings. Zevran half rose from the bed and helped her with the lace bindings at the waist. She looked at his work over her shoulder and breathed in so he could tighten them further. "Hmm, here I am playing your dress maid and I didn't even help you into the fun parts. A pity."

Sereda scoffed at that. "Do you ever stop?"

"Where's the fun in that?" He stood up and winked at her when she looked up. He had aged well, much to her annoyance; laughter lines creased around his face now, but it only made him appear more roguish, and actually suited him. Sereda found the grey hairs and wrinkles creeping up on her disconcerting, and did what she could to battle them, Despite her scars and that her occupation as a Grey Warden was as far from vanity as could be, she still fussed over her appearance, especially during official functions.

She was about to reach for the cuirass (which Gorim rather nervously told her was worth well five hundred sovereigns alone in materials as she dropped it by accident once) when Zevran lifted her chin with one hand and looked down at her, concerned. Sereda sighed and waved him off. "I'm fine."

"And yet somehow I do not believe you."

"Be still my heart," she said, and at that she looked at the metal breastplate she would be wearing all night. It was not going to be comfortable, and was designed to fit like a corset. She gave up, and sat by her dresser; already the metal tips of the pterurges digging into the flesh of her thighs, and she sighed in annoyance at the whole damn affair.

"He'll be there," he said finally. "Your husband is many things, but I do believe he is not so much of a fool as to let you down." The shining silver armour of Alistair's remained untouched on the stand, a beacon in the middle of the room.

As Sereda began to reply, the door knocked. Zevran opened it, and Gorim arrived, a thin elf trailing after with a small wooden box and a roll of canvas tucked under one arm. Gorim, upon seeing her undress, cleared his throat into a clenched fist and stared at the floor. "The, uh, painter has arrived, my Lady."

"Artist," the elf sneered. "I am an _artist_."

Sereda put on her dressing gown again, smiling at the reaction. "Well then, artist," Sereda said in amusement. "I am your canvas." Zevran grinned at the younger elf rather wolfishly.

"Much as I'd love to see your _artistry_ in action," he said, flirting shamelessly, "I am needed elsewhere. I shall see you later tonight," and that Zevran bowed very formally. When he rose, he smiled at her, waggled his eyebrows, and left the room.

Gorim watched him go with a shake of his head, and cleared his throat again as the face painter set up her tools on Sereda's dressing room table. "Everything is as planned, my Lady."

Sereda nodded, and tried not flinch as her face was patted with a damp cloth. "Good." As she tried talking again, the artist lifted her chin and started rubbing a cream on her forehead, careful of her hairstyle.

Gorim looked at Alistair's armour stand and looked back. "No sign of him?"

"I don't care," she said, with enough tone in her voice to dismiss the subject.

"Understood. I will leave you to it. And hold the line. We will depart in two hours, ready for the queen's private dinner. Then, of course, the ball. There was apparently trouble with the lyrium decorations, nobody was sure if it would do the Surfacers harm…"

Sereda laughed at that. "Leave them, I say. I'm sure the lasting effects won't be too dangerous, and it's their own fault if they try to eat them." The make up artist tutted at her movements and she sat still. Gorim bowed once more, and left the room.

* * *

The queen's "private dinner" was an exercise of politeness. Her outfit meant she couldn't really consume much, and picked at her food to make a show of eating. When Alistair did not arrive, Sereda dismissed it as due to Grey Warden business to her company.

Queen Anora, dressed finely in soft pink silks, her mask not yet on, observed her guest, quietly. She fingered the brooch, a gift from Paragon to Queen, immediately putting it on as she opened the box. Sereda could not remove her mask, aware of the lapse in protocol she was committing. Technically half of it was painted on, gems stuck to her face; the rest was a fine gold mesh that swept her brow, fringe covering her eyes. Already it itched, and she resisted the urge to scratch her temples.

Anora lifted her drink, her face unreadable. "To a fine ball," she toasted, and Sereda raised her goblet with a nod, sipping slowly.

"Indeed. A lot of planning has gone into it, and I like to think that tonight is a welcome celebration to all the effort made on both sides." A servant filled her goblet, then disappeared back into the shadows.

Anora smiled then, and it reached her eyes. Sereda had given a very political answer. "It was good of you to invite the Orlesian ambassadors; I approve."

"Technically we dwarves are neutral politically, and with our location being on the borders, well… It made sense."

"Indeed," she replied through clenched teeth. Even though Anora thought the answer was a lie; already she had given much to the "hero of Ferelden," the Commander of the Grey Wardens, over the past ten years. She was even considering making her an Arlessa, and wondered if the stout little thing would accept it.

The rest of the dinner went by with Sereda pushing for polite enquiries about mutual acquaintances at court and neutral conversations about upcoming celebrations; the upcoming ball played far too heavily on her mind to allow herself to play political cat's paw with the queen.

* * *

The ball took over three sprawling rooms of the palace: there was a room for dancing, a room for resting and drinking, and a room for gambling. Traditional dwarven games were being played and actual sovereigns were won and lost over the night; the money won by the "house" would go to the local orphanages, a touch that amused Sereda. The gardens were even open, and for once Feralden weather was behaving itself. The pleasant night air was actually welcoming in open windows, and more then once she stood by them to allow herself to cool down.

Her entrance with the queen and her choice of outfit caused the right amount of ripples, and she wondered if she perhaps went too far when she realised she was showing far more flesh then most. No matter; she was here as a walking advertisement for dwarven work, and she made sure she pushed the humans that asked about her jewellery and clothes in the right direction to the merchants acting as go- betweens for the Artisan and Smith Castes.

There was still no sign of Alistair. She refused to give into self-pity, and instead plastered a smile on her face. She worked hard on this, and she would be was damned if she was not going to enjoy it. Finally she was greeted with the impish grin of Zevran, already with a woman on his arm. "You look stunning, my dear," he said with a bow.

"As do you," she noted. His black fox mask was purely Zevran, and suited him to the bone. The woman in green velvet who practically draped herself over him agreed too, judging by the pouting look on her face.

The music started up for a livelier traditional dance, and Zevran's guest squealed. "Oh we must!" She said, grabbing the elf by his shoulder. Sereda hid her amusement, wondering if Zevran could see the look in her eyes through the gold gauze.

"You must," she replied as straight as she could, noting Zevran's bemused reaction to the now obviously drunk guest on his arm.

Zevran allowed himself to be dragged away, gaze lingering of swaying thighs. "I must," he echoed in an overly long sigh, getting himself ready to line up with the rest of the dancers. Sereda noted that he was one the few elves here as a guest and not as a servant, and she frowned.

She allowed herself to dance with Bann Teagan, his pregnant wife smiling at the pair of them as the whirled past. Gorim surprised her by knowing a few human steps, and when the dwarven music started and the rooms cleared slightly, she danced as carefully as she could, hoping she wouldn't fall out of her breastplate, which was not designed to move with her body. Dwarven dancing, the respectable kind anyway, was more aimed at group whirls and jigs rather then pairs, and she was pleased to see a few humans take part, and not just her Wardens that she recognised through masks. Even if the steps were wrong, no one cared; it was later into the night and everyone was too drunk to see the mistakes being made.

She sat down at a diamondback table, finally giving herself a rest from the dancing. Lord Dace sat to her right, and she nodded to him. Traditionally, humans at masked balls were not meant to openly acknowledge each other and to play along with the disguise, but Lord Dace refused to play that game with her. He looked her over once, and allowed himself to be dealt a hand.

"Lady Aeducan," he noted with amusement, as the human noble to her left drunkenly stared at her breasts.

"Lord Dace," she said, looking at her hand with subtle movements. His Grandfather had died recently and his older brother had taken over the house. This particular Dace was here due to his Mother banishing him until the gossip died down back at Orzammar. Antred Dace got caught with his pants down in more ways then one when his fondness for …certain men got him beaten, robbed and left naked in the Commons by a group of Dusters.

"A nice little party you have here," he said, placing down a card. The dealer watched carefully as Sereda put a coin on it and placed a suit card over the top. The lordling to her left frowned and looked at his cards, mask pushed up to his forehead.

"Little?" She said, laughing.

"Wait, do I put a higher or lower card down?" the noble whined. At that, a human man in grey sat opposite her, a plain black mask covering most of his face. He smiled at them all, and the dwarven dealer dealt him in.

"You've just made the game, sir," she said. The man in grey looked at his cards, and nodded once at her.

"Just my luck," he replied. Sereda looked him over, liking the way his shirt opened up slightly at the front, and how well his shoulders filled the rest.

As the drunk noble -who was a minor Bann of the Folds, apparently- played his turn, she watched carefully as the man in grey put down a six of shields. Interestingly enough, he knew how to play already; Lord Dace looked at the new player and frowned. He had hoped to have an easy game.

Dace drew her attention after playing a safe hand. "Yes, well. I'm sure when everyone returns home to the safety of Stone and leaves the horrible open air behind them it will still be a _little party_," he said, the frown still crinkling his forehead.

Sereda allowed herself to laugh at that, and started to play a little tougher hand on her noble cousin. "I'm sure. But even if people walk away from this thinking that perhaps dealing with humans isn't so much of a bad thing, then…" She gestured into the air.

"Ah well, my lady," Dace said with a smile. "We don't all have your …tastes for the surface," and at that Lord Dace looked around and shuddered.

She laughed again, and shook her head. "The open air has made you testy, Lord Dace."

At that, he straightened and cleared his throat. "I mean no offence, Paragon."

"None taken. But I am sure you can see that greasing the political wheels tonight would be beneficial for your house, no? I'm sure your Mother would approve." At the mention of his Mother, Dace looked miserable.

Sereda raised a brow delicately and watched out of the corner of her eye at the man opposite. He was watching her. Finally the Bann left the table, disgruntled at losing. She looked at the game then, and realised he was playing a very good hand. He had just won the round.

"Well now," she said with a smile, frowning at her cards. "Interesting." She decided to be more cautious.

She was aware that the man in grey continued his observations of her; not just because of the game, but the way his gaze swept her face and watched her movements. She moved the hidden dagger in her greaves slightly so it didn't dig into her calves and her dipped movements were followed with dark eyes, gaze lingering briefly on her cleavage. If she were honest, she would have to admit she liked it. He was a very handsome man despite the mask, even if he was keeping his appreciation at a respectable and subtle distance.

Lord Dace, thankfully, was oblivious. After he played a particularly bad bluff, she called it with a suit change and raised the bet. "Lady Aeducan, I see you still know how to strip most of their money," and with that he placed his cards open ended on the table and nodded to the dealer his play was ending, sweeping his remaining money into his hands.

"Come now. It's for charity," she said with a smile, and noted with amusement as Lord Dace reluctantly put some of his silver into the pot at her admission.

"Of course. Stone keep you, my Lady. I am off to drown my gambling sorrows in some of that particularly fine mead they are serving here."

Sereda nodded and watched him go. The man in grey cleared his throat opposite her, and played his turn, a particular safe pair of threes. "Hmm," was all she said, and placed down an eight of flowers.

He looked at her and smiled. "Lady Aeducan, did I hear right?" She smiled, and pushed back a lock of hair currently escaping a pin.

"Yes, indeed I am. And you are?" She looked him over then; dark blonde hair, a small beard. A body that has seen fighting and hard work; his hands were calloused from weapons, she could tell, and he had a soldier's tan.

The man smiled and put down more money, and another card. "Duncan."

"A pleasure to meet you, Duncan...?"

"Just Duncan."

Sereda returned his smile. " Hello, 'just Duncan.' I knew a Duncan once; he was a fine man."

Duncan smiled again and put down an eight of diamonds on top of hers. Sereda mentally cursed, and knew she had to start bluffing. "Looks like I have a reputation to uphold in the name of Duncan, then," he replied, amused at her reaction.

Sereda winked and put a card facedown, a sovereign on top, her finger held on the coin. "Diamondback," she called, bluffing with an eyebrow. "And I suppose you do," she said in defence of his comment.

He leant back and appraised her, hands on the table. She smiled up at him, enjoying their dance. Duncan looked at the pot of money, and the cards laid out. Very slowly he put his hand over hers and tapped it once, lingering a little longer then he should.

Sereda withdrew her hand, and the dealer hit the table three times. "Bluff has been called. Place your bet please, ser," and at that Duncan put his money into the pot. Sereda smiled up at him, and when the dealer revealed her failed bluff, she smiled and held out her hand.

"Well played," she said, rising. Duncan took it gently and kissed it instead of shaking it as intended, and she laughed.

"Might I be so bold as to offer you a walk in the gardens? It's stifling in here." Duncan put his winnings into the charity box and Sereda took his offered arm, a smile on her face.

"Of course," she agreed. She saw the wedding band on his hand, and looked at hers then, reminded of her earlier arguments with Alistair. Bitterly she pushed them from her mind, and allowed herself to be led into the cooling air of the gardens.

* * *

Zevran had of course seen the mild flirtations with interest, and observed the sudden familiarity of it all as they left the gambling room, watching as Sereda took the offered arm and walked out into the gardens, a devious smile on her lips.

While a part of him knew it was not his business to pry, he debated intercepting the pair, to question her intentions. His Warden Commander was not exactly in the right frame of mind for such idle teasing after all, considering today's errant misadventures with her belligerent husband. He had to check up, just to make sure. He would only have to deal with the sulking tomorrow if it went wrong, anyhow.

He noted he was slightly drunk, surrounded by the men and women he trained to fight, watching them in their revelry. His "ducklings," as he called them fondly. It was amusing to see the shy, bumbling mage coyly try to chat up the brusque Dalish warrior, and he smiled as the Dalish woman teased mercilessly back. And to see the three boys try to out drink Oghren, who was currently trying to teach them a drinking game…A losing battle, it appeared.

Making up his mind, he stood up to follow. The Wardens protested his movements. He shook his head, smiling. "Delicious though it is that you miss me already, I must depart," he told them all. Oghren rolled his eyes at Zevran's dramatic gesture and took another swig of his ale. He put his mask back on, and most laughed as he bowed a little too extravagantly and headed to the gardens.

* * *

Sereda looked up at the cloudy sky and breathed in deeply, letting the cool night air relieve her from the sweat and heat of the ball. Couples meandered around the garden in pairs, tiny lit paper lanterns lining the paths. Ahead a small fire crackled and a stall of cooked apples and warmed mead was being served to already drunk guests.

Duncan led her in silence, occasionally looking down at her. "You really are remarkably pretty, you know," he said almost conversationally after awhile, like he'd just pointed out an interesting landmark.

She laughed. "Smooth talker," she said, and leaned into him, her head just reaching his shoulder.

"I like to get to the point. Years of experience has taught me that tripping and stumbling over words will only get me in trouble. I'm not very good at saying what I mean."

Sereda paused at the fire, nodding at the few acquaintances she could identify. She looked into the dancing flames awhile, Duncan's presence against her. "Perhaps you could tell my husband that," she said slyly, finally bringing up the unsaid. Duncan laughed at her rather direct statement and gestured for them to walk on, her hand still placed on his.

"Well then dear Lady," he said with wry amusement. "This husband of yours… Where is he?"

They had walked off the beaten path, and the lantern lights had disappeared. Guards patrolled nearby, watching them carefully. "Good question. Where is your wife?" She asked just as boldly.

"Not here."

Sereda stood on her tip toes, wincing as her greaves dug into the flesh of her ankle, and pulled him down for a kiss. "Good enough," she replied huskily, and followed gladly as he dragged her into the shadows of the trees so they could do so further in privacy.

* * *

"Oh! We must!" A voice said behind him, and Zevran's blood ran cold. Darting to the shadows, he hoped he wouldn't be spotted by his hastily dumped companion. Unfortunately he ended up stumbling into a gulley and onto the delicious form of a long haired elf having a private drink, also hiding from the rest of the world in a rather convenient Ha Ha in the garden.

"Apologies," he said with a bow, and the other elf waved his hand to show he had taken no offence, mask held in the other.

"No trouble. It was my fault for hiding in the first place," and with that he picked up a whole wine bottle and drank a draught, looking him up and down. Zevran saw the challenge and raised an eyebrow, and looked briefly over his shoulder to see the drunk Arlessa nearly fall into the bonfire with a laugh, propped up be an overly helpful noble.

He faced the other man, not quite sure how he managed to stumble into this situation. "Thanks for the opportune rescue, my friend."

"I'm Remy," and with that the elf shook Zevran's offered hand with a sardonic smile, his Orlesian accent just present then.

"Well, Remy." With sad little sigh, he gave the man a look up and down. "Much as this has been an education in timely introductions, I did come out here for a reason."

"Not just to escape drunken gropes from nobility?"

Zevran laughed and leaned further in. "Oh I don't know, sometimes when the mood strikes…"

Remy rolled his eyes and mirrored his movements drunkenly, their lips nearly touching; Zevran could feel the breath on his lips when he spoke. "You seem the type, _ma cher_."

Zevran cursed his libido and thought of Sereda then, the reason he slipped into the gardens. His lust overruled, and he pulled the drunk elf to him, and kissed him deeply. He could taste the wine on his lips, and when hands were pushed into his hair, he chuckled.

"Consider me thoroughly distracted," he whispered into a pointed ear, and reasoned that his Warden was a big girl; any mess she would get herself into, she would have to get out of…

* * *

Sereda's back was against the wall of the palace, the bushes in front offering some seclusion. She was thoroughly cold, despite her earlier heat, and let wandering lips and hands trail warmth at her exposed skin. Carefully she raised the golden mesh covering her eyes and placed it on her head like a hair band and Duncan trailed a finger over an exposed eyebrow, kissing her again, his own mask left in the dirt of the flowerbed.

Her legs opened slightly, and she arched as he lifted a hand under her skirts, finding the band of flesh between her stockings and silks. She gasped, and encouraged he kissed her again, looking down with undisguised desire as her cleavage spilled slightly out of her cuirass.

Arching slightly, she found herself being pushed up further the wall and a warm mouth kissing her exposed breasts, her armour tugged down to make room for his explorations. She moaned in frustration, and dug her ring covered hands into his back. He jerked up as the metal dug into delicate flesh through silk, and the movements slammed her into the wall again.

He paused to look at her, breasts exposed, pleats of her skirt revealing creamy thighs. She trailed a hand under his shirt and into the laces of his breeches, and he moaned softly into her hair as her hand stroked the length found there, pushing down his clothing further.

He ran a finger down her chest, tracing a faint scar there left by an arrow. It followed down her golden armour, the tip bumping over embedded diamonds and sapphires, stopping until he reached the centre of her, pushing aside bunches of her skirt so his wandering fingers could touch her, stroking the wetness. When his calloused fingers entered her roughly, she moaned into a hand to keep the sound down.

Taking it as a signal, he positioned himself just so and she met his sudden thrust, allowed herself to enjoy the feel of him from the inside.

Slowly they moved to begin with, but something broke and she found herself rocking against him faster and faster, the thrusts hitting her deliciously despite her armour and her clothing pinching her in places and marking her body, her stockings catching and laddering on exposed metal and stone. She pulled him down for a kiss so she wouldn't scream, and when she felt herself quicken, the build up deliciously peaking to an end, she moaned against his lips once, allowing herself a release.

She collapsed against the wall still feeling the after effects, and watched as he thrust again and again into her, his eyes tightly shut as he worked into his own rhythm. She ran her arms along his back, and when he finally arched she pulled him further into her, feeling the release. They stood there for a moment, and she heard him swear softly into her hair, his breathing laboured. Carefully he leant back and smiled at her, slowly pulling out.

Sereda sighed at the loss and began to dress herself, her armour digging in uncomfortably now. Gently he backed up, and her feet touched the ground. She began to set the pleats in her skirt, not quite looking at him. When his hands settled her mask back to her eyes, she finally looked at him, a sad smile on her face.

"Well, Duncan," she said quietly. "It certainly has been interesting." He ran his hands along the crook of her neck, and along the line of her shoulders. He picked up his mask then, and put it on.

"Will we meet again, I wonder," he asked, and carefully smoothed a strand of hair out of her mask, a playful smile on his face.

"Perhaps," she said distantly. Sereda walked carefully out of the shadows, ears listening for other people. "But if we do, I want you to promise me something."

There were on the path now, the lanterns dancing in the cold wind, and the bonfire up ahead dying slowly. "Anything." he said, the smile on his lips still there.

"That you nod politely as we pass, and you remember what we just shared. And you carry on walking."

Duncan nodded once sadly, noting that she withdrew her hand from his arm. "And I will go back to my wife," he said then, staring ahead as the party was beginning to break up; there was no more music coming from the ballroom.

"And I will go back to my husband. I do love him you know, despite what I said."

He adjusted the ties on his shirt, and folded him arms against the cold. They were walking closer to the open doors of the palace, and he faced her then. "And I love my wife, even though she drives me crazy sometimes."

Sereda thought of warm hazel eyes, strong hands calloused from fighting and a mouth usually crookedly laughing, a small beard framing still handsome features, despite scars and wrinkles. "I know how that goes," she said in a sigh. She looked up into similar eyes and patted his arm once. "Thank you," she whispered, and turned on her heel, leaving him in the garden.

* * *

Zevran saw her enter through the doors, a faint smile on her lips, knowing what made her smile; he was quite relieved to see her happy, albeit in a tired way. He wondered if it would be the same in the morning_; it never was_, he thought wistfully.

The ball had started to break up, but the die hard revellers kept going. Gorim noticed her entrance, and she nodded at her Seconds, her boys, as they drifted over. "I am getting too old for parties," she said. She looked at them hesitantly; they both laughed, considering her past reputation. At some point they had held her hair while she had thrown up after a night out, and had dragged her home after protesting that she wanted to stay.

"Then I will walk you to your house," Gorim said. She looked at Zevran, and he considered it.

"Eh, I will stay," he said, and at that he spotted someone across the room; Remy waved at him lazily, another drink in his hands. Sereda rolled her eyes with Gorim, and the pair of them headed to the front of the palace, and waited to collect their coats and weapons; she was meant to have a guard walk her home thanks to her rather costly outfit, but knew she and Gorim could handle anything thrown at them; her home was not too far from the palace, a present from the Queen a few years back to the Wardens of Feralden.

"Hmm, I get the impression I'm meant to stay and help up with the clear up. You know, shoo away drunkards with my broom and turn out the stragglers."

Gorim nodded at that. "I know, I feel guilty leaving too. But, we've left it in capable hands; I trust the men and women to do their jobs we gave them."

"Rather sensible throwing a party not in your house, really, when you think about. No one throws up in your fireplace, and guests don't get amorous in your linen closet."

He laughed at that, and helped her into her cloak as she finished strapping her baldric around her outfit and sheathed her weapons. Pulling her hood up, she waved away the footman, and headed into the cloakroom, intending to take the servant entrance out.

Walking through the narrow rooms past the kitchens, she headed to the backdoor and walked past the herb and vegetable gardens, pulling the cloak around her tighter as she strode past the bemused cooks outside the kitchen having a five minute break.

The guards scowled at them when she reached the servant entrance. She gestured to them to open the gates, and Gorim showed him the entrance pass given to all dwarven staff for the celebration. With a grunt, a small door was unlocked and they both passed though.

"I'm sorry my lady," Gorim said then.

"What on earth for?" She asked, pushing her mask up back into her hair.

"I did not see him. Your husband I mean. I didn't see him at the Ball."

Sereda smiled, and tightened the grip of her cloak, wary then of the street noise. An alley cat skittered up ahead, and she squinted up further to see if anything bigger lurked as well. "It is of no matter. I'm not worried, and nor should you be."

Gorim looked at her, then decided it wasn't the time to voice his concerns. She was unreadable again, and he was puzzled at her neutral reaction.

The journey home was uneventful, and as Gorim unlocked the door, she went in, trying not to wake the sleeping servant on the hearth in the welcome room. She put a finger to her lips and Gorim nodded once, wishing her goodnight as she skip the bolt home.

Carefully she walked upstairs, the cloak discarded on the banister, holding her sheathed weapons in her hands. She started to unbuckle the metal torture instrument around her waist, sighing with relief as it loosened. Getting to their room she completely pulled it off, carefully trying not to wake her husband who was proving he could sleep through a hurricane or was doing a good job in ignoring her.

The greaves came next, followed by her ripped stockings and dirty silks. She yanked the golden gauze from her face, pins and hair extensions finally giving up the fight and pulled out of her hair. No doubt when she awoke in the morning it would look like she'd murdered someone.

His silver armour still stood in the middle of the room untouched. She ignored it, sitting on her edge of the bed naked, quietly drinking the glass of water left there on her cabinet. She was too lazy to wash her face of kohl and glitter, and collapsed into bed, her back to her husband.

Sereda wondered if she still smelt of _him_; if his touch was obvious on her body. Carefully she pulled her legs up, and froze when Alistair touched her back. "Hey," he said quietly, turning over to face her.

"Hello," she replied, just as small. She touched a scar on her arm left by a knife wound, and tried not to freeze up and he moved closer to her in bed.

"So I hear your _do_ was a success." Sereda closed her mouth firmly.

"Yes, it was rather. I enjoyed myself."

A kiss was placed on her shoulder, and she nearly sobbed. "So did I," he whispered, his beard ticking her ear, and hands pulled her closer into his hold.

"Did you meet anyone?" She whispered to him, not yet rolling over completely into his embrace.

He ran a hand down her hair, kissing her neck. She opened her eyes, and saw his hand hold hers, his battered wedding band showing. "You looked beautiful," he said with a smile, ignoring her question for now. "Everyone was looking at you."

She touched his ring finger then, and finally looked over her shoulder. "It took four servants -sorry, _artists_- to get me ready in half a day. I should hope so."

He laughed at that, and held her closer, whispering his answer into her ear then. "Funnily enough, I did meet someone."

"Oh?" She turned over completely now, facing him.

"Yes. A man named Duncan. He told me he beat you at Diamondback and took you for a walk around the palace gardens." She smiled then, a huge smile that he could see even the dark.

"That Duncan! I told him to be quiet. That's the last time I accept propositions from strange men in gambling rooms."

He leant in and kissed her once, settling back to run his hands down her back. "I'm sure he's upset about it. You broke his heart." At that she half groaned, half laughed.

"That's terrible, Alistair. You're pushing it now." He stopped and kissed her nose.

"You're telling me. So what did you do to this Duncan then, to smash his heart into tiny pieces?"

Sereda sighed into shoulder and played his game. "That I loved my husband. Even if he's a sodding hurtful _bastard _sometimes. That I love the idiot very much."

Alistair rocked her slightly then. "Ouch! You wound me."

"You deserve it."

She thought then of the politics of her kind; what it meant to be married to a human, to be a Paragon and a Surfacer. She wondered if, despite being married for six years, if it would get any easier. _Probably not_, she thought.

As he drifted off to sleep, he heard her sigh and settle into his embrace. "Tomorrow," she muttered. "It'll all be sorted tomorrow, and forgotten about."

And it was.


End file.
